


A Room of One's Own

by 37Cats



Category: Monstrous Regiment - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:51:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8888032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/37Cats/pseuds/37Cats
Summary: In which a tea room is not just a room for serving tea.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/gifts).



The men call it the _Tea Room_ , or sometimes, after a particularly careful look around to make sure there is no one around who would object, they call it the _Ladies Tea Parlor_.*  
  
As far as anyone can tell the women don’t call the room anything. There is no need to. It exists as a given in any statement of fact: if you were looking for someone and she wasn’t on duty, or had stepped out to grab a drink or a bite to eat, then she would be there. The room was the center around which the whole of the women’s army turned.  
  
It had an official name, of course, inscribed on a tasteful bronze plaque beside the door. The plaque also informed anyone who was interested that the room had been dedicated to _the Brave Lady Soldiers of Borogravia to Provide Respite from the Hardships of Their Work Among the Military._ An even smaller and more tasteful plaque below that mentioned that the room had been graciously commissioned by General Froc on his retirement as a personal thank you.

(Below that someone had drawn something in pencil, the anatomy of which had been carefully corrected in a second, more deliberate hand.)  
  
The designers of the room had probably meant for it to be elegant, and even now remnants of the original rich and fiddly appointments could be seen. The rosy pink wallpaper was faded and smeared  in places with what was (hopefully) dirt or ash, and several recruitment posters (poorly aligned prints urging the citizenry to “JOYN THE ARMY AND SEE THE WORLD” in desperately cheerful colors)  had been tacked up and apparently used for target practice over the years. There were a few of the original tables and chairs, spindly and finely worked, but most of them had fallen prey to the rough use of soldiers, who were unlikely to be gentle or graceful when coming in from a long watch or a night running messages on horseback. The rest of the furniture was worn and mismatched but sturdily comfortable, scrounged by enterprising individuals over the years from castoffs and junk rooms about the base. The only thing that really remained from General Froc’s original dedication, viciously protected, was the constant supply of tea (hot, sweet, milky), the fresh biscuits three times a day, and the little silver coffee pot (although the coffee was provided more out of self-defense then out of any sort of reverence on the part of Command for the Lady Soldiers of Borogravia.)  
  
***  
  
Technically Sergeant Major Polly Perks had a desk to do her work at in Headquarters, but one of the things you got used to in the army was ignoring technicalities ( _technically_ Borogravia was at peace, _technically_ it had been for years) and besides, her chair here in front of the fire was much more comfortable for her bad hip than the unpadded wooden stool at her desk and a woman of her years deserved a little comfort now and then.

Anyway, everyone knew to look for her here and at this point switching back to the desk would probably cause more confusion than anything.  
  
She liked being in the middle of things, too - liked being able to glance up from paperwork and give a nod or a quiet word to whoever was coming onto or getting off shift, liked the way being in the room gave her a feel for how things were going in general.

(“Ah, yeth,” Igorina had said approvingly, “like a spider.”

“Er, right,” Polly had replied.)  
  
Polly also liked that it was always Maladicta’s first stop when she got back from one of her many missions. She’d stumble in, mud-spattered and, increasingly often lately, looking tight-lipped and grey, and hunch protectively over the coffee pot for her first few cups. Then she’d turn unerringly towards Polly, smile and raise her cup in lazy recognition. Often that would be all, Maladicta would saunter back out again and Polly would settle back into reading reports, satisfied that catching up could wait until dinner or a late nightcap.  
  
Today, however, Maladicta fills a second cup for Polly and comes over to sprawl elegantly in the arm chair next to hers. She kicks her feet up on a footstool and sighs contentedly.  
  
“You’ll never guess who I ran into on the road, Perks.”  
  
“Who was that, Major?” Polly asks, and doesn’t bother hiding a smile at the face Maladicta pulls at the formality.  
  
“Tonker and Lofty. I met them at an inn on the trip back - they wouldn’t tell me where they were going, but they’d just gotten back from Quirm. Apparently Tonker’s been quite taken with the fine arts lately and there was some painter they wanted to check out having an exhibition. Does huge paintings of landscapes or something.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Oh yes - it was a very big deal, lots of very rich people all crammed into a big room together. Lofty showed me a ring she had, ah, acquired while there. It was quite pretty.”  
  
“No,” Polly says, “I meant: really, you just happened to run into them? Completely by chance in a roadside inn?”  
  
“I don’t think I like your tone there, Polly - of course I ran into them completely by chance. It was entirely good luck that I happened to run into two dear old friends in a perfectly innocent way at a completely random location that was most definitely not agreed upon beforehand.”  
  
“My mistake, I’m sure it was a pleasant surprise.”  
  
Maladicta snorts and then sits in comfortable silence for a few moments. Polly turns back to her work.  
  
“They said people are starting to talk. There are rumors about new hostilities.”  
  
“What, all the way in Quirm?”  
  
“Zlobenia’s come up in the world since we started, so has Borogravia for that matter. Besides, everything’s all connected now, all tied up together in trade deals and treaties; its never going to be just a scrap between two little countries up in the mountains again - we’ve got friends and they’re got friends and everybody’s friends have friends and nobody’s really sure of who will end up fighting who if it comes right down to it.”  
  
“I know.” Polly tries not to sigh. She shuffles through her stack of papers until she finds the newest letter from Shufti and flicks it at Maladicta. “Congratulations, by the way, you’re a great-godmother.”  
  
Maladicta snatches up the letter with a laugh and flips it open. “What, already?”  
  
“As of two weeks ago, yes.” Polly lets Maladicta read in peace while she pulls out a report from Igorina on the women’s wing in the new hospital. She’s been putting it off because, while Igorina has impeccable handwriting, she appears to have carried over the Igor’s traditional distaste for waste to writing as well, which means the single sheet is covered in tiny and densely packed letters. Just looking at it makes Polly’s head hurt.  
  
“Tell me, Polly, when are you going to give in and get reading glasses?”  Maladicta is smiling fondly when Polly glances up and she reaches out to smooth the wrinkles out of Polly’s forehead with smooth fingers.  
  
“When I need them.” Polly passes Igorina’s report over as well and feels slightly vindicated when Maladicta pulls it close to peer at it.  
  
There’s a sudden bustle of activity. Several privates tumble in off a watch shift. They throw Polly and Maladicta a few sloppy salutes, clearly more focused on getting a hot drink than on decorum and Polly acknowledges them absentmindedly.    
  
A general’s aid brings Polly another set of reports and drops them off, taking a moment to slip in a little gossip about Lieutenant Caubeen’s latest attempt to woo the Ank-Morporkian ambassador’s daughter.  
  
Maladicta finishes reading the report and drops it into her lap along with Shufti’s letter. She stares moodily into the fire until the room has cleared out again.  
  
Once they’re alone again she turns to Polly and it makes Polly’s chest ache to see her look so tired. “So, we have rumors of war in distant countries, Shufti’s reporting increased recruiting in the countryside, and Igorina’s noticed a very sudden uptick in soldier’s being rushed into the critical care wards but nobody will give her an explanation as to why. That about sum it up?”  
  
Polly shrugs and flips through the new reports. “You know how Wazzer comes in sometimes because she likes the chocolate biscuits we get here best?” She waits for Maladicta to hum in acknowledgement before continuing, “last time she came in she mentioned that the generals were having all sorts of meetings. I’m not sure she entirely understood what was going on, but it spooked her enough to want to tell me.”  
  
“Right,” Maladicta says softly, “well, Sergeant Major Perks, it appears we have some work ahead of us.”  
  
Polly can’t help but grin. “I’ll see if I can prod old Clogston out of retirement, we’ll need someone who can talk circles around the command. And between the two of us I think most of the army may owe us a favor or two.”  
  
Maladicta stands up and stretches, joints cracking. “And I’ll see if I can’t run down Jade and her brood. Last I checked she had someone in most of the towns in the country, I have a feeling we’ll need the extra eyes.” She reaches down to give Polly a hand, pulling her gently to her feet.  
  
“You know what they say, Mal - a woman’s work is never done.”  
  
“Gods, Polly, don’t I know it.” Maladicta grumbles and follows Polly out of the room.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

*It should be noted that, no matter how careful one is, there will always be a time when one lets slip something in mixed company.

The names of the men who sneered _Parlor_ always got back to the right people eventually, slipped quietly into conversations over meals or passed along after official reports, wending their way through the busy network of lady soldiers until they finally arrived at the ears of the right people. And the right people, quietly and unobtrusively, took action.

The army of Borogravia, like all armies, runs on bureaucracy and small favors, and it only takes a very little nudge in the right place to halt a man’s career.


End file.
